The sky was a perpetual bruise, the sun a memory faded into the ash-laden atmosphere. For generations, humans had been the dominant power, their kingdoms stretching across fertile lands. Now, only pockets of civilization remained, each a fragile candle against the rising tide of orcish barbarity.
The change had been slow at first, almost imperceptible. Tales of raided farms, then sacked villages, eventually became a consistent truth. Now, it was global war.
Anya, a scout from the village of BroadRowin, felt the biting wind carve its way into her. Her cloak was thin, threadbare from the constant travel through the now-barren countryside. BroadRowin was once vibrant; now, it was another notch on the list of fallen settlements.
The war had taken much from her, but the burning feeling that grew within was more prominent than any feeling before, which was to understand why. She needed to know.
The orcs, once thought of as scattered raiders, now marched with an organized terror. Their ranks grew larger by the day, their crude, metal-clad forms an endless, gnawing, nightmare for the world's inhabitants.
Anya had heard them, the cacophony of guttural chants and stomping feet, and was starting to question if she wanted to truly understand their intent. But, there was no more deferring; she needed to understand her purpose.
Her travels were usually alone. It was better to observe the current movements alone as that could determine whether there were others who may be hiding and in the path.
She paused by the crest of a small hill, her vision cutting through the fog and rain. She found them down below, an army camped out. It was an orcish horde unlike any she had ever encountered.
The stench of them drifted up on the wind; like stale blood, unwashed bodies, and something darker, ancient and acrid that brought up her unease to an unprecendented degree. This one was led by a hulking figure, bigger than the rest.
This was not normal; he radiated an unnerving sense of intellect and rage, his heavy steps creating a tremor across the dirt. It became so severe, she nearly stumbled.
The standard stories of simple, savage, mindless creatures seemed untrue. She peered closely at him, at how he surveyed the scene; observing, making mental notes, with an undeniable strategy to his motions.
This was new. The eyes. Her eyes were sharp; Anya took no time for sentiment, she needed answers.
There, in the dimming light, something burned. Something intelligent. Something evil. That thought would carry more than any information that she had gathered.
She knew that lingering would only mean a bad ending for herself, and, perhaps for her kin. The knowledge of orcs was, more or less, minimal from all the world's archives, so Anya wanted to discover just a piece for herself to make a better picture.
She slid back, her movement deft, careful not to dislodge any rocks. She made for the treeline to consider the next plan, if a new plan could ever truly form in her mind.
It felt like it was already a predetermined decision, despite her wishes for it to change. It never does.
Days bled into weeks. Anya was almost feral now, surviving on scraps, she saw little rest in the waking moments; her dreams held no solace either.
Her hair was matted and unkempt, and grime was permanently layered beneath her fingernails. She existed as a ghost, she was nothing more.
She followed the horde, and kept away just enough so they never laid a trap; she did find them observing her a few times; a sinister game, and it unnerved her greatly to say the least. It was in these observations that her terror evolved; not just with fear, but also from confusion.
She watched as they decimated what remained of human settlements, how some orcs would pause for moments to observe how and why the structures had existed. She observed how some took artifacts, and studied them.
Some seemingly understanding a human written language and how to wield our objects. A perverse learning, a warped and brutal education; they were not mindless automatons after all.
They sought something else, something she couldn't discern. It wasn't for land. That, they would have had.
There had to be more. The way they treated human settlements, for their architectural studies. It made the situation much more concerning.
They tore them down carefully at first, studying their architecture, as if preparing for some larger design. They were preparing for something that is only just starting to emerge from the vast, nebulous sea of possibilities.
She grew cold; very, very cold.
One evening, Anya found herself hidden behind a ruined stone wall; watching the orcs. A large bonfire roared in the camp's center, casting dancing, ominous glows against the dark treelines.
The large, brutish leader was sitting there; studying a map that Anya was sure she'd once seen from the Royal Library of Eldoria. A sense of unease washed over her; one of dread that sent shivers crawling along her spine.
Where and how could they obtain such knowledge, how did they know its intent? And even worse… what does it say? What could she find?
He traced his fingers over sections, his face contorted with an emotion that almost resembled understanding. Other orcs stood around him, some also examining their collected, grotesque trophies.
She could not ignore her intrigue, something was off, very wrong and not understood; this drove her to approach closer; much too close. Her foot dislodged a rock; it landed in the open, right into a puddle.
It broke the sounds of her heart in that deafening silence.
Her form, once in shadows, now stood revealed as dozens of beady, red eyes went wide, their crude weaponry turning and angling her way with terrifying purpose. Anya sprinted.
She moved as quick as the forest would permit, but each root and fallen log seemed to stretch themselves outward to trip her. They were gaining; fast, with terrifying speed.
There was no outrunning an army; there was nothing else but to dive into the dense, undergrown area. They followed her, which led to a cave that sat beyond an old riverbend.
This cave was large; much larger than the surrounding land would've allowed, and a chill rose from it. It was in this place where it made the air grow colder.
Anya collapsed just at the entrance, breathless, blood now thumping behind her eardrums. She fumbled for her sword; she gripped the hilt and waited.
She stared deep into the oppressive black, hearing them drawing closer. The cave had swallowed the sunlight, it was almost a living being of absolute, darkness.
Footfalls pounded outside, the low rumbling of many large forms. Then there was an unnerving, oppressive silence; a brief halt as the footsteps no longer advanced.
Then, a deep, guttural roar of frustration which broke the tension, but only for a moment. Then they surged forth. The air grew cold.
And there Anya found something unique to the cave, that the surface did not allow for.
Torches appeared and surrounded her; several orcs began to walk from within the cave, wielding crude, torch-lit forms to allow them vision within the oppressive blackness. At that time; Anya found herself backed up to an icy, large rock, the walls closed her in.
And now, the large leader appeared, wielding his monstrous cleaver, now stained crimson with her brother's blood; this she knew with a sudden understanding that crashed over her. He was silent now, staring; taking in her broken form with some unnerving curiosity.
He raised the blade above, slowly; almost testing her acceptance for her quickly arriving end.
But Anya found no fear. Only understanding. That coldness she found; that chill that rose in the air?
It rose from within this cave, the deepest points; but now she knows where it came from. All that terror, all that strange learning that she had witnessed them partake in.
All that terror had risen up from here, something primordial, a hidden strength, an otherworldly connection. It all seemed clear to her now, and in all the sadness that weighed heavily, she let a small smile slip by as he brought his blade down to finish the rest of his grotesque job.
The cleaver impacted the hard stone; striking through her chest, splintering it; she felt an excruciating feeling like burning heat as everything went dark and faded.
The orcs were silent as their leader stood motionless; looking on and still. He had now just fulfilled his part of the prophecy; of her demise at his own hand.
She was never supposed to run, only reveal. The map had only marked its location. He stood up; beckoning his group deeper.
The rest followed him to the back of the cavern to fulfill his end of the agreement.
Deeper in the cave was a large, otherworldly, stone; a vessel of energy. It was from this that a power pulsed forth, resonating into all things.
It amplified the aggression of their hearts. With her final sacrifice the large stone reacted, a soft pulsating light, now burning violently.
The leader smiled, finally. With Anya's sacrifice they would no longer feel that need for aggression or to take. They could now, only expand, now beyond.
Her fear only created its own expansion, but that did not mean her efforts went unnoticed. He was free. And she was part of it. She, in death, assisted.
The cave throbbed as his crew moved beyond.